They are so hungry, my monsters. I coax them out from under my bed, and they won’t shut up. Feed me, says the little one. Feed me, says the biggest. Feed me, the skinny one begs.
We leave my room, tiptoeing down the hallway. Be quiet, I warn. We can’t wake Mummy and Daddy. Then I’m struck by an idea. I lead the monsters to my parents’ room and point to the bodies beneath the covers.
The biggest monster gobbles up both, leaving nothing for his brothers. Are you serious? I ask, as he wipes his mouth. He unhinged his jaw like a snake, there was hardly any blood.
I will miss my parents, but that is a problem for later.
The littlest monster prances toward the nursery. The baby wakes, I hear him crying. I stay in the hallway, until the crying stops.
My family is gone, I realize. I realize I’m an orphan. My stomach rumbles.
Feed me, says the skinny monster. I flick him on his wrinkly forehead. You’re hideous, I tell him, and he shrinks a little. But there’s a smell to him that’s nice. Like dust bunnies. Like maple syrup.
I move my mouth like the biggest monster, unhinging my jaw, and before the skinny thing knows what’s coming, he’s swallowed.
They turn to me, the monsters, the two left, their pupils swollen. I feel mine swelling. We exit the house, into the night. To fill ourselves, over and over, because we’re alone, and so so hungry.
